Reflections
by ClarkieTheCutie
Summary: On Narcissa's wedding day, duty is in the air. But her heart holds love at it's core. (This is a one-shot. No continuation is forthcoming. Therefore, please do not review telling me to 'update soon', because I'm getting sick of that.)


The reflection in the mirror is one anyone would be glad to possess. Wide hips climb upwards into a tiny waist, which then flares out into an ample bosom. A long, elegant neck, in the hollow of which sits a glimmering black opal. But the face is where true beauty lies. It is a delicate face. Wide, long lashed cerulean blue eyes, a fine, daintily pointed nose and full, sensuous pink lips. It is the face of a woman who has not been a woman for long. There are still vestiges of childish dreams in the eyes, but they are clouded over with duty and determination to see that duty fulfilled.

From behind Narcissa, another face looms in the mirror. It is as if there are two Narcissa's in the glass now. One, sparklingly white in her wedding dress, virginal in every sense of the word; the other taller, less beautiful, more distinguished, but still every inch a Black. Narcissa's mother picks up the delicate, worn piece of lace that each Black woman has worn at her wedding, time out of mind and pins it to her daughter's hair. Then, she begins to speak.

"Duty is sacred. Before all things comes duty," came the voice of Mrs. Black in the small ear of her daughter.

Narcissa's lips part and she repeats what her mother has said in the bare whisper above which a lady is never permitted to raise her voice. "Duty is sacred. Before all things comes duty."

"Your duty was to be a good daughter. To do well in all things. Now it is to be a good wife. I trust, Narcissa, that I have adequately taught you what it means to be a good wife," states Mrs. Black.

"The duty of a good wife is to respect and honor her husband. The duty of a good wife is to obey her husband. A good wife bears her husband an heir," says Narcissa. Rehearsal has obviously gone into every word spoken in this room. A feeling of something like holiness permeates the air soaks into every nook and cranny of the room. Ancient Magic is at work. Narcissa breathes it in with each word she speaks.

"Today you leave behind girlhood for womanhood," says Mrs. Black, with finality.

"Today I leave behind girlhood for womanhood," repeats Narcissa. Mrs. Black leans forward and places a kiss on Narcissa's forehead, then on each of her cheeks. Then she disappears from the room, leaving Narcissa once again to stare at her own image in the looking glass. Now is the time when she is meant to reflect upon the duties she has had through her life and the duty she is now taking on.

Narcissa, however dutiful on the outside, has struggled with dreaminess all her life, and now, all alone once again, her mind wanders. She thinks of all the Black women who have ever stared into this mirror. Her mother stood here, twenty years ago, while her name was still Leland, and repeated the words that Narcissa's father's mother spoke to her. Bellatrix stood here just last year, her reflection different from Narcissa's, the meaning the same.

Narcissa's glance happens to catch upon the ring that Lucius slipped upon her finger three years ago, at her fifteenth birthday party. It is a beautiful thing. She loves the ring, not because it is expensive and beautiful but because it is her proof. Every time Lucius' coldness succeeds in making her doubt how much he loves her, she looks at her ring and knows that he must love her. If he didn't, the ring would have been some huge, princess cut diamond. But instead it is simple and elegant. A medium sized sapphire, flanked by two tiny opals, set in white gold.

Thinking of the ring turns Narcissa's thoughts to the night it became hers, and so she lets herself remember.

_June 18th, that is Narcissa's birthday. This year, as every year before, there is a huge party. But this year, Narcissa is fifteen. And in the old pureblood families, that age means something. It means a girl is eligible for a match. Of course, everyone has known, for years, who Narcissa's match will be. It has been planned since she was born, and it is certain now. Now that Lucius Malfoy is graduated. They have been seeing one another since Narcissa started school, even though she was only eleven and he, two years older, was a third year._

_Narcissa knows that this morning, the reason she saw Lucius Malfoy when she went downstairs for breakfast is because he had come from asking her father for her hand. It is all a game. The fifteen year old is fully aware that at some point tonight Lucius is going to slip a ring onto her finger. Yet she is still waiting, anticipating, wondering what it is going to be like to wear his ring. She already wears the necklace he gave her last Christmas when he whispered in her ear that she was his, and would always be his. _

_She looks down at the signet ring she currently wears on her ring finger. It is black and inscribed on it's onyx surface is the black family motto. **Toujours Pur**. Every Black girl child wears one, from the time she is born. It is charmed never to come off, until such a day, as the girl shall be offered a different sort of a ring. Then the signet ring is switched to the index finger. It is a tradition that Narcissa knows goes even beyond the years traced back on her family tapestry._

_While lost in these musings, Narcissa doesn't feel a presence loom over her. Until a hand caresses her cheek she is entirely unaware of his presence. "Lucius," she breathes, looking up into his beautiful gray eyes. Every time she looks at her Lucius she has to fight not be swept up by his eyes. They are her personal storm and his glance is forever trying to drown her._

_"Narcissa," says Lucius, with that slight up turning of one corner of his mouth that she knows is all for her. "I must say, darling, that you throw an exquisite party." He sweeps his hand expansively across the landscape of the garden in which they are seated. His gesture encompasses the fountains, the loops of roses, the faeries glimmering in the willow tree above them._

_The girl looks down with a shy, perfected smile and then back up, into Lucius' eyes. "Thank you, Lucius," says Narcissa in the voice her mother has taught her, quiet, modulated and coy. _

_Lucius' eyes turn hard. "Don't play games with me, Narcissa. I don't enjoy this rehearsed, practiced nonsense." He has gone from charming lover to stern tyrant and Narcissa trembles despite herself._

_"I'm sorry, Lucius," she murmurs, feeling defeated. She cannot please both her mother and her betrothed._

_His hand curves under her chin and brings her eyes up to look into his. "It's alright, Narcissa. I forget, sometimes, how very young you are." He sounds as though he must be forty, rather than seventeen, a professor lecturing a promising but wayward student. "It is simply that I prefer to see the real you. You are like a soft, silk-gloved hand. But each bone in that hand has within it a thread of steel. I am all for conforming to traditional demure manners in public, but we're alone. Allow me to see the real Narcissa."_

_"I fear that the real Narcissa is more like a cloud then a steel-boned hand, Lucius," says Narcissa._

_"I think that you misunderstand me. I am seeing the Narcissa of years from now that I catch glimpses of every now and then," Lucius paused, looking as though he was thinking of something very important. "Will you do me the honor of being certain that we are together so I may prove my excellent theory?" As Lucius finishes his last sentence he slips down onto one knee, producing a small, beautiful, ornate box from within his robes. With a flick of his finger the box is open and in her view is a beautiful, simple ring._

_Narcissa has known, of course, all night, and, to be truthful, since she was eleven, that this moment was coming. And yet her breath still catches in her throat as she looks down at Lucius, holding that beautiful ring. She wants to gush and tumble and kiss Lucius all over his face. But that is something that 'Cissa, little sister of Bella and Andromeda would do. Not the actions of Narcissa, who was nearly a woman._

_She allows her eyes to glimmer her happiness as she says softly. "Yes, Lucius, I want to be sure I can be with you forever."_

"Narcissa." It is the voice of her eldest sister, Bellatrix.

"It's time?" she asks, turning away from the mirror, the spell broken.

"Yes. The music will begin any second now, sister," says Bellatrix, eyes distant and cold.

Narcissa nods and when Bellatrix closes the door, she smiles. She is secure in the knowledge that she will never be like Bella, whom she knows has already shriveled inside from lack of love. Rodolphus has no real interest in Bellatrix. She is merely a vessel, to bear his children and give his dinner parties and decorate his bed with her legendary beauty. Narcissa feels a thrill of pity for Bellatrix.

She knows that, herself, she was merely lucky that duty meshed so well with desire. Her love with Lucius is strange, but wonderful, and she is certain that she will be young forever because of it. Her fountain of youth will be Lucius Malfoy's unique love, and duty has bound them inexorably together. She need never be alone with her duty again.


End file.
